The Sound of Silence
by fictionbookworm
Summary: Nobody likes to talk about the Sixty-sixth Annual Hunger Games. Even the Capitol. They have some surprisingly good reasons for that.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

The day had started well enough, despite it being Reaping Day. Most of the younger children had behaved well during breakfast and had gotten ready without causing too much trouble. Everyone had remained remarkably quiet, and no one had tried wandering off during the walk to the square. Will had actually started to relax and think that, for once, maybe they will get lucky.

He should have known better.

First, little thirteen-year-old Rosie becomes the female tribute.

"She got no chance." Someone murmurs in the crowd, and he can't help but regretfully agree. Rosie is a tiny slip of a girl who spends most of her time taking care of flowers. He often had to kill the invasive bugs for her, since she had never been able to do it herself. Too kind-hearted for her own good, the adults had often said. She would never be capable of killing a human being.

Then, their escort digs into the glass bowl to pick the male tribute, and there is no point in pitying the trembling girl on the stage because the Capitol woman calls out his name.

Suddenly, the persistent ball of fear on his stomach he had every single time at the reapings seems to expand. He felt like throwing up

The crowd shifts in front of him, and he slowly makes his way forward, his body numb. There is a bead of sweat dripping down the back of his neck, but he does not bother to wipe it away, keeping his visage impassive instead to mask his terror. He can no longer afford to look weak or scared. From the moment the cameras shifted towards him, the Hunger Games have started.

He barely registers the rest of the reaping, ignoring the long-drawn, dull reading of the Treaty of Treason, but does attempt to give Rosie a reassuring smile when they shake hands when he notices her baby blue eyes glittering with unshed tears.

Before he knows it, he is being shoved into an empty room and left alone. He does not wait for long, the door bursting open again almost immediately, and his siblings spill into the room. Eva runs straight into his arms, burying her weeping face into his shirt.

"You have to come back, Willy!" She cries. "You have too!"

"Promise you'll come back!" Chorus the twins clutching his arms.

"I promise I will do my best, loves." He whispers into Eva's hair, trying to conceal his own tears in her thick, dark curls.

"That's not enough, Will." Claims Basil angrily. "That's nowhere near enough!"

"But it's all he can do. You know that." Spade pacifies the other in the reasonable tone he used when trying to keep himself calm for the younger children. When the boy clicks his tongue sharply but does not argue, Spade turns back towards William with a sight. "Do what it takes to come home, you hear me, little brother? Suck up to the sponsors if you have too. You have a pretty face, use it. And whatever happens, never, ever hesitate to kill. Don't think of them as human."

"Yeah, okay, I can do that." He swallows roughly and looks up at his two older siblings. "They're just rats who got into the storehouses again."

"Fuck, yes!" Basil chuckles bitterly. "They're all nothing but fucking rats."

"You kill rats well." Eva murmurs, and he tightens his arms around her. They have so much to say to each other, and so little time, they end up standing in silence the few precious seconds they have left together.

"I love you." Finally bursts out of his mouth, desperate and wretched just as the door closes behind them, and the last glimpse of he has of his siblings is of a single, silent tear running down Basil's cheek.

To his great surprise, the Matron is his next visitor. She had never shown any particular love towards him, and to be honest, he had not thought she cared. She sniffs disapprovingly at his tear-stained shirt but does not comment on it.

"Take care of Rosalie, boy." The woman says. "At the very least while in the Capitol. And do try not to be one to kill her in the Games."

"Blood or no blood, she still is my little sister. I'll take care of her even in the arena."

"Good. You're a good boy, William, always willing to help out." He ducks his head down, embarrassed by the unexpected and unusually praise, his ears reddening slightly. "Don't forget to take care of yourself too sometimes, and don't try playing the hero. Don't fight needlessly, Basil and the other boys might have dragged you into plenty of fights, but I doubt your mere brawling skills will do you much good against bigger and stronger opponents. Especially against Careers Tributes. Run and hide instead, but don't try to outlast anyone. If you enter an alliance, slit their throats while they sleep, before they stab you in the back."

His hands catch his eye, and he inspects them miserably. With their dry and cracked skin, and long, thin fingers with calluses, and with the permanent dirt under his fingernails, they belonged to a gardener, and not to a trained warrior, to a killer.

"I don't think I can." He quietly confesses, because while he had put up a brave face in front of six-year-old Eva, he could not do it with the woman who all but raised him. "I understand what I need to do in my head, but I don't think I can."

"You can because you need too. You can't be gentle anymore, William Hadley, if you want to live. Be ruthless and smart. That is the only way you stand a chance of winning." With that, the Matron turns around and leaves.

Will cannot help but notice the woman has not stayed the full allotted time for her visit. He is not surprised. It was not the first or last time she will need to say her goodbyes this way.

There are no more visitors after that, so he sits on the edge of the velvet couch, running his fingers in wonder at the softness over the fabric. There must be people still visiting Rosie. She was always well-liked, even outside school and work areas. Always so sweet and friendly.

* * *

When Rosie catches sight of him, she immediately clutches at his sleeve and refuses to let go. He does not fight her. She needs comfort, and he feels calmer when he knows where she is.

The ride on the car from the Justice Building to the train station is surprisingly nothing new. He had expected cars to be a little more different from the tractors they occasionally used in the orchards during harvest season.

The station was thoroughly overflowing with reporters and their various cameras. Rosie tightens her grip on his clothes, and he steps slightly in front of her.

There is a television screen on the wall he could see their image on while they pose for the cameras. He looks protective, he thinks, like he is trying to shield the frightened little girl behind him. The other tributes will take that as a weakness, but the sponsors might like it. Cashmere and Gloss are beloved by the entire Capitol. He did not see why two siblings who choose to stick together through thick and thin alone against the rest of the world would do any worse.

They are eventually allowed into the train, and Will lets out a relieved breath. Rosie, on the other hand, bursts into tears.

"Aw, come on, Rosie. Please don't cry, you know I don't like it when you cry."

"You don't like it when any one of us cries." She sniffles.

"It's the big brother instincts, sweetheart. I can't really help it. Like Basil can't help punching people in the face when he's angry."

"I'm sorry, Willy."

He hugs her tight and runs a shaky hand through her soft blond hair. "It's alright, I understand. I promise I won't leave you alone, alright? I'll be with you every step of the way. Till the very end."

"Even in the arena?"

"Especially in the arena, flower."

Though they were each given their own quarters with a bedroom, and a private bathroom with a shower with both hot and cold running water, an almost unheard of luxury in District 11, Rosie insists they bunk together to his relief. At the orphanage, they had always shared rooms, and he does not remember a time when he had slept alone. He doubted he would be able to rest well without another person breathing beside him.

It is Lucretia, their escort, that comes to get them for supper. She is eternally dressed in various shades of red with accents of gold, though her clothes are rarely as outrageous as the ones he sees other Capitolites wearing on the television. It was other things that tended to attract attention instead.

Her hair, for example, was dyed a dark crimson color and pulled into a tight braid, which was tied by a golden embellishment at the end, then part of it she styled into a bun which was also held together by a golden ornament. She let the remaining long queue hang free. And her eyebrows had been a great source of amusement at school too. No one could quite understand why she would feel the need to shave the real ones off and paint smudge-like dots in their place. They generally attributed it to Capitol strangeness and left it at that.

Their mentors were already waiting in the expensive dining room, obviously waiting for them.

"Well, come in." Seeder impatiently gestures them over when Rosie freezes in the doorway. "We have too little time to stand around doing nothing."

"Let the kids eat first." Gently chides Chaff from where he was pouring himself a glass to drink of what Will assumed to be alcohol. "They must be starving."

The supper comes in courses; a thick carrot soup, green salad, lamb chops, and mashed potatoes, cheese and fruit, and a large chocolate cake.

"It's the same thing every year." Lucretia comments with a sigh, but they are barely listening. Ordinarily, the Matron carefully proportioned out this amount of food among ten to fifteen of her charges. And it is so good, and unlike anything else they have ever eaten, they can not help but stuff themselves. It is only the table matters beaten into him since childhood that prevent him from abandoning his utensils in favor of his fingers.

The quantity of food remaining on the plates after the meal is over makes him want to cry more than being reaped did. "What's going to happen to it?"

"Thrown out in the trash, I expect." Lucretia negligently waves a meticulously manicured hand. "What else would you do with leftovers?"

He would not know. They never had leftovers.

He feels slightly sick from overeating for the first time in his life but obediently moves over to the next compartment to watch the recap of the reapings across Panem. In the Capitol, people could see it live as it happens, but because the Districts have to attend the reapings themselves, they watch the entire thing at the end of the day.

The District 1 tributes will be this year's favorite, he thoughtfully decides. They both were incredibly beautiful, and he could see even over the screen their well-maintained muscles. Two other potential picks for favored came from Districts 7 and 10, a hulking boy of about eighteen and a somewhat thinner boy in bloodstained clothing of about sixteen, respectively.

"Tough crowd this time." Murmurs Chaff. "I'll wager the boy from 10 is a butcher. Just look at all that blood, he must have come to the reaping right from work."

"How unsightly." Mutters their escort.

"And the one from 7 is a lumberjack." Adds Seeder. "You'll have to be careful of those two. They'll know how to use sharp weapons as well as Careers."

It is District 11's turn, and there is no way the others will miss his protectiveness towards Rosie. Not with how he was angling his body to hide her behind him practically the entire time they were on camera. Even one of the commentators' notices, wondering aloud if they were somehow related, or if they were just friends despite the age gap. Fifteen years old were not often buddies with thirteen years olds.

"_Are_ you related?" Asks Lucretia, suspiciously looking them over.

Will smirks slightly at her doubt. It was a common mistake since they did look alike and were some of the few pale-skinned people in the District. "Not that we know off." He replies, shaking his head.

"Pity. Imagine the number of sponsors you would have had if we spun a story of you two being long-lost siblings."

Rosie stares at Seeder incredulously. "They wouldn't really believe that, would they?"

"You would think that they would be smarter, right? But no, they will believe anything they read or see on the news."

"I can't argue with that." Despondently sights Lucretia. "Sometimes, my fellow Capitolites can be so naive. Aquila, that's the District 12 escort..."

"We might not be related by blood." Interjects Will, eager to return to the previous topic before they get stuck in an hour-long gossip session. "But we were raised together in the orphanage. Maybe the self-chosen siblings' angle might be even better liked."

"The others will take that as a weakness." Cautions Chaff.

"I know. It's already too late for that anyway." He gestures towards the screen where he was herding Rosie in front of him into the train.

"Will you be able to play protective siblings in the arena too? The worse thing you could do is to drop the act the moment you're in danger."

He closes his eyes, feels the train moving faster than he could imagine for a long moment while he gathers his courage.

He had only thought about it until now. He made vague promises that he could break at any moment. Now, what the mentors needed was commitment. Whatever he chooses now, there will be no coming back or second-guessing.

When he opens his eyes again, their blue color is ice cold with determination.

"She's my little sister. I'm not leaving her alone. I can't."

And Seeder smiles for the first time. It is not a nice one. "We can use that."

* * *

They don't get much done after that. There is an attempt to discuss strategies for the training, but it had been a long and hard day, and everyone was tired. So, he eventually picks up Rosie that had fallen asleep, nestled into his side on the couch, and bids goodnight to the adults, before slowly making his way back to their allocated room.

It was not the first time he had to tuck in sleepy little siblings into bed, though Rosie had always preferred Basil for some unfathomable reason. Their brother was among the rougher spoken ones, and perhaps the most violent of their siblings. The older girls suspected she had a crush on the older boy since he had saved her from some rich kid bullies at school several years ago. That fight had ended with most of the participants suspended, Will included, and students still talked about it in hushed whispers. The Matron had been extremely unimpressed and had given a beating they remember to this day. Quill has yet to try touching pruning shears outside work areas. Still, for a little girl who had just lost her parents, it must have looked mighty impressive.

Maybe she likened Basil to a knight in shining armor straight out from those fairy tales she used to love so much. Every little girl dreamed of being a princess once.

He sits at the edge of the bed and stares at the blond head peeking out from under the covers. How often had he sat the same way comforting siblings after their nightmares? He reaches out a trembling hand and smooths down some flyaway hair gingerly. Once, others had done the same to him. Only now they have grown up and left to start their own families. And in one case, reaped.

She had not gotten out of the Cornucopia Bloodbath alive, and for months after, he saw her dying face everywhere he went. He did not want the same for Eva, and Hazel and Heather, the twins who had already seen their parents shot by Peacekeepers, and all the other little ones back at the orphanage. They did not need to see their big brother dying.

"What are we going to do, angel?"

Tomorrow they will reach the Capitol, and they will not have a moment tot rest anymore. It will be all Chariot Rides, and training, and interviews, and then, in the end, the arena. If they are lucky, the Careers will not consider them a threat, and leave them for last, if they are not, they will be among the first to be hunted down. Though maybe not the very first, there had been a twelve-year-old boy from District 8, Needle, and a sickly-looking girl from 6.

"Her name was Luna. She volunteered for her best friend." He whispers in the dark. "She's probably dying already."

"Willy?" Rosie murmurs voice thick with sleep.

"Nothing, princess. Go back to sleep."

"M'kay." She shuffles around a bit before her soft breathing evens out again.

He attempts to lie down too. Minutes pass, and he gives up going to sleep any time soon. The problem with the bed is that it is exceedingly comfortable, the sheets made of soft silk, and the covers thick and fluffy. He feels like he is drowning in the mattress. Back home, they might as well have just slept on planks of wood for all the difference it made.

* * *

He must have finally drifted off at some point because it is the rapping on the door that wakes him.

"Breakfast!" Lucretia calls, and he hears her heels clicking away on the polished floor.

He pushes himself up with a groan and shakes his arm out of the grip Rosie had on it. He had not realized she liked cuddling in her sleep.

"Time to get up, sleepyhead. We've got a big day today."

"I don't wanna..."

"Up." He unceremoniously yanks off the covers and goes rooting through the drawers for new clothes, while the girl stares at him with a betrayed expression from the bed. There is not a shred of pity in him. She better be grateful he had not gone for an ice bath as the Matron tends to do for the children that oversleep.

He moves to the bathroom and blinks in confusion at the multitude of buttons. Shrugging eventually, he starts pushing every single one to understand what they do. If it had been up to him, he would have had only two buttons, one for hot water and the other for cold. Why anyone would need a dozen buttons alone for colorful bubbles, he had not the faintest idea.

Though, the shower he ultimately gets out of it is heavenly. It was like being under a water sprinkler on a warm, sunny day, only hotter. And he actually got clean, without having any mud thrown at him by mischievous siblings or having to wait after for his clothes to dry.

After getting ready, they make their way to the dining room for the already served breakfast. It was a wonder the table did not break under the weight of the enormous platters piled upon it.

Sitting down, he spoons a bit of egg, ham, and fried potatoes unto a plate and passes it to Rosie, contenting himself with just fruit. He never liked eating heavy in the morning, and especially not on days when he felt nervous.

They eat in silence, although Lucretia does attempt to start several conversations. She ends up leaving in a huff when they ignore her.

They already had said everything the previous evening, and gossip about the latest scandals of high society could not interest them less at this very moment.

Soon enough, the car goes dark as the train enters the tunnel that runs under the mountains surrounding the Capitol. When it starts slowing down, and they blink out the spots from their eyes from the sudden return of light, the two of them move to the windows under the careful watch of their mentors.

They really could not help themselves. Seeing things on the television screen and in real life were two incredibly different things. They had made a game of it once, on a sleepless night when everyone had been too sick to sleep, trying to imagine how the Capitol looked. There had been suggestions for flying cars. Someone had proposed floating houses. And another had joked that they had roofs and roads made of gold.

"It's so strange." Declares Rosie wrinkling her brow in bewilderment, and Will hums in agreement.

The city could not be any different from their simple District 11 with its rolling orchards and glistening greenhouses. Here the buildings rose high into the sky, and shiny cars rolled down wide paved streets instead of rusty tractors, and the people seemed to wear every color of the rainbow. He likens them to the peacocks and parrots from the old picture books at school.

The Capitolites begin eagerly pointing and waving once they realize a tribute train was rolling into the city. He glances back towards the mentors passively drinking their coffee, plain black for Seeder and with spirits for Chaff, and nudges Rosie with his elbow. "Wave back. Make yourself look friendly, cute. Make them love you."

* * *

**I do not own The Hunger Games. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

As far as he knew, Capitolites usually contented themselves with dyes and plastic surgery. But when his prep team members had first walked in, he had stared a little, futilely wishing his eyes were deceiving him. Nothing could have prepared him to the sight of a man who had real gems implanted into his body, or another who had patterns carved into his face and arms with what Will suspected had been some kind of sharp blade. It would seem is prep team took their body modifications even more seriously than most, and he had to admit, as ridiculous as they looked to him, there was a certain elegance to their alterations. That is if he ignored the garish colors of their hair and the absurd clothes they were wearing. Unlike some of the other prep teams he had spotted earlier on the way in, they hadn't continued modifying their bodies until there was barely any of their original skin left. It was all obviously planned out well in advance, before actually going through it, and not a spur of the moment decision when they were drunk.

His stylist, on the other hand, had decided to tint himself from head to toe in a lovely shade of purple dye that reminded Will of lavender. Thankfully, all he wore nothing crazy, contenting himself instead with a simple, but no doubt still expensive, dress shirt and pants combo, with his hair in a small tail and a pair of silver hoop earrings in each ear. It gave Will the slightest optimism that maybe their Chariot Costumes wouldn't be giant flowers again. Their district tributes had looked utterly idiotic the previous year, though fortunately, District 12 had saved them from being the laughing stock by being sent out covered in nothing but coal dust.

"My name is Bacchus." His stylist lazily introduces himself and takes out a cigarette from his pocket. "I'm replacing the regular District 11 stylist for this year only while she enjoys her honeymoon. It's nice to meet you, William."

"Will, please." He cautiously replies. "It's nice to meet you too."

The man starts walking around him, almost clinically examining his thoroughly scrubbed and shaved body. He eyes him back inquisitively, not feeling self-conscious at all. Whatever body modesty he ever might have had as a child, had been quickly forgotten at the orphanage where they never bathed alone to conserve water and where various siblings were prone to bursting into a room at any time. The oldest of their siblings have mastered changing their clothes in ten seconds or less, and for Will, the longest it takes is half a minute.

"It is unusual to see one, much less two paled skinned tributes from District 11." Bacchus drawls thoughtfully.

"There's not a lot of us in the district, and the few that are, are generally the richer ones, so they have much fewer chances to be reaped when you take into consideration the tesserae." He explains needlessly as the man appeared not to be listening and had leaned in to examine his hair instead.

Will bends away somewhat suspicious. He has been poked and jabbed by the prep team plenty already, and wanted nothing more done to him. Was it not enough they had covered him from top to bottom in glitter? For a moment there, he had been afraid that only would be their costumes.

"Isn't it lovely, Bacchus? A beautiful blond so pale, I would almost call it platinum. And his eyes, such a clear icy blue!" Coco, the only female prep member and the only visibly non-surgically altered of the three, though she had the longest nails he's ever seen, gushes from her corner.

"What about his face?" The scarred male, Felix, counters hotly. "He's as pretty as it gets. I would have mistaken him for a girl if I had seen him on the street."

Will shoots him a glare in response. He'd been teased for looking girly often enough, thank you. It was not an advantage anywhere other than the Games, and even then, only with the Capitolites. The other tributes were more likely to think him weak, and that would hurt his chances of finding a good alliance.

"Now, now. Don't scare the poor boy away." The stylist breaths out the smoke from his cigarette with a contemplative hum and finally gives Will some space, making his way through a door with a sitting room.

Pulling on a silk robe handed to him by one of the prep members, Will follows. As he sits down on one of the two couches, Bacchus presses a button on the side of a table. The top splits open, and another tabletop rises from below, holding what he assumes was their lunch and various ice creams for dessert. The others start eating straight away, but he tentatively nudges the raw fish with the tip of his fork, instead.

"It's quite safe to eat," Cyrus mistakenly reassures him, as it wasn't the freshness that was the problem. He might never have had fish before, but he was quite sure it wasn't supposed to be raw. "caught in District 4 just this morning."

Still cautious and not the least soothed, Will nevertheless starts eating too. The Matron had taught him never to waste food, and he was not going to start now, even when running the risk of food poisoning. The Capitol must have good doctors, and they wouldn't let a tribute get sick, right?

"So, Will." Bacchus eventually says, peering at his over the rim of his wine glass. "What do you think of butterflies?"

"Butterflies?" He repeats questioningly, wrinkling his nose lightly. "I don't mind them, but what do they have to do with anything?"

"The costumes for the opening ceremonies must suggest your district's principal industry." The stylist explains. "For 11, that is agriculture. You are known for your fruits, berries, and vegetables, and what do they all have in common?"

"Flowers?" He hazards a guess after some though still uncertain in where their discussion was going. "Most of them have flowers at some point?"

"Exactly. And what do flowers have?"

"Nectar!" Coco exclaims with a light giggle as if that explained anything.

"We're going to be butterflies?" He asks, still feeling confused.

Bacchus sighs exasperatedly. "Yes, Will. You're going to be butterflies."

And that's better than giant flowers, how?

* * *

A few hours later, long after their short lunch had become a forgotten memory, he was finally dressed in the finished product. And it honestly was not as bad as he had been expecting.

With a frilly white dress shirt, and darker pants so tight they left little to imagination tucked into shiny leather boots, it seemed a little antiquated, but the wings negated that entirely. Glittering and blue, they hung down his back like a cape. Supposedly, they were going to be opened by the air created by the chariot moving.

"Rosie is gonna love this." He mutters with a small smile, twisting and turning in front of a mirror so large it took up the entire wall.

"Well, of course." Coco happily chirps while packing up her makeup kit. She had been in charge of drawing a beautiful flower and vine design with glued on gems over his cheekbones and around the edges of his dramatically shadowed eyes to his forehead. It felt strange, almost heavy on his face. "What kind of little girl doesn't desire to be a gorgeous butterfly even once in her life?"

Bacchus, once again observing him from all angles, purses his mouth thoughtfully. "Let's add some lipstick. A glossy blue to keep with the color theme. And Will, you have no idea how glad I am you keep your hair that long."

"My sisters insisted. They claimed it was a shame to have it short, and I can always throw it up in a bun if it bothers me."

"They were right. We were thinking of using a wig with a similar hair color to yours before, but your length was perfect for the half up, half down braid we had planned."

"They actually wanted it longer, but we compromised with the shoulder length. The other boys would have teased me mercilessly if I gave in." He confesses.

"How strange. Here, no one would even blink if a man had hair to the floor." Cyrus remarks, taking out a bejeweled flower hairpin from a case and sets to carefully inserting it in the middle where the two side braids met.

"There. You're done." Bacchus claims with satisfaction. "Just in time too. Felix, help the boy with the wings. The fabric is too fragile to have it drag on the floor like that."

"By the way," He asks as they make their way down to the stables located on the bottom level of the Remake Center. "how do you fit the costumes so well after seeing us only once during our reaping?"

Bacchus turns towards him, pulling out another cigarette. "That is a trade secret, sorry. Now, we'll go get the chariot ready, so try not to get in trouble meanwhile. Hitting other tributes is not allowed, no matter how annoying they are or what they say."

With everyone he knew gone, he loiters around for a while, trying to ignore the stares of the other tributes before being accosted by an excited Rosie who had just arrived. "Look, look! We're fairies, Willy!"

"Yes, I noticed." He replies dryly, but the girl doesn't seem to notice his tone, too busy twirling to show off her new dress, and he obligingly compliments her on it.

It was a ball gown with a skirt that looked to be made of a multitude of large petals, and a corset of small white and pink flowers. Her wings were pink and smaller than his, but her makeup was similar despite the different color schemes, while her hair had been curled and adorned with a pretty flower crown of white metal and gems.

"Fairies, Willy." She repeats with a dreamy sight, and he finally laughs. It looked like Rosie was so delighted to finally fulfill her childhood wish, she forgot to be terrified.

"You did say you'd be one, one day."

She flushes red. "I was a kid!"

One of the District 2 tributes gives a loud disdainful snort passing by, and Rosie shrinks back into his side.

"Ignore them," Will tells her. "there is nothing wrong with fantasizing once in a while."

"I know." She whispers, and after a slight pause, tentatively asks. "What was he supposed to be?"

He looks back at the other boy who had been joined by his fellow district tribute at their chariot and furrows his freshly plucked eyebrows, observing quizzically the white body paint and equally white tunics. "Stone? Ancient statues, maybe?" Whatever they were supposed to be, he wasn't completely certain, though the tunics, if nothing else, were tasteful.

"District 1 looks pretty." He follows her gaze and nods in agreement. They were both wearing full-body leotards of glitter and crystals, and sparkling, translucent capes, while their hair had been twisted into complicated hairdos with more gems plaited in. Perhaps, a little too shiny for his tastes, but far from the worst he's seen from the district of jewelry.

"And District 3 looks funny." An unknown voice interjects behind them, and Will twitches, startled, before whirling around, protectively pulling his little sister behind him almost instinctively. The bare-chested boy grins, green eyes crinkling at the edges in amusement, and Rosie squeaks, abruptly turning red again. "I think they are supposed to be robots. District 4, Nyle Abano." He introduces himself.

"William Hadley, and Rosalie Gardenier from District 11." He replies with a polite but cold smile of his own.

"Charmed." Nyle drawls, and his necklace of coral, shells, and pearls clicks as he leans in to observe the designs on his face, brazenly invading his personal space, and making him clench his teeth in annoyance. Will tolerated only his siblings this close to him. "You make absolutely gorgeous fairies."

"Butterflies actually, but thank you, anyways. You are supposed to be mermaids?" He glanced down inquiringly at the skirt the other boy was wearing which shimmered in the dim lights like scales.

"That's right," Will notes that the other boy looked pleased that he bothered to keep the conversation going at all. "our stylist says the style of Cora's gown is literally called a mermaid dress. Very unoriginal, if you ask me, but they did do a good job this time. Last year's costumes were bad all around for absolutely everyone, not just you or 12."

"I remember. Yours wore seashell swimsuits." The girl's costume had been so skimpy she would have been more decent naked. But they also had Finnick Odair as their tribute that year too, so no one really complained at the Capitol. On the other hand, Nyle's moue of distaste at the reminder told him everything he needed to know about how their District had reacted. The poor boy had been only fourteen, and however attractive he already was at his age, he didn't deserve to wear that in front of the entire nation.

A loud bell rings and a woman's voice announces that there were only five minutes left before the parade begins. "Ah, well. I'll see you later then, William." The bronze-skinned boy promises and swaggers off.

He watches Nyle join his district partner, feeling a little caught off-guard. "What did he want?" He wonders aloud.

"I think he wanted to meet you," Rosie suggests to him slyly. "maybe he liked you?"

"Don't be stupid." He chides her, glancing down at her with a frown. "We are going to be opponents, and there is no reason for a Career to look for an alliance with me. I think I made it pretty clear I wasn't going to leave you behind."

"I still think he just wanted to talk to you." She shrugs.

He rolls his eyes and ushers his meddlesome little sister toward their chariot with its customary District 11 brown horses. Nothing flashy for them like for the richer Districts. "Just because I don't have any friends outside our siblings, lovely, it doesn't mean I need new ones. Especially not anyone that we will be facing in the Arena later on."

* * *

The opening music begins, blasted loudly from every direction. Massive doors slide open, revealing the colorful, crowded streets, and the District 1 chariot rides out, pulled by its traditional white horses. The crowd's roar grows in volumes for two of their favorite tributes, and when District 2 rides out next, it doesn't lessen but seems to get even louder.

The drive will last twenty minutes and end in the City Circle, where the Capitol will welcome them, play the anthem and finally escort them into the Training Center, which will be their base until the Games. Already, Will is dreading it. From now on, they would be under constant supervision, with no chance for privacy because even their bathrooms would have cameras. The Capitol wasn't taking any chances ever since one of the tributes electrocuted themselves in the tub. They had it reported as an accident, but everyone in the Districts knew it was actually suicide.

Cyrus makes some last-minute arrangements of their capes, and then, they are moving. A hand wraps around his own, and he gives it a reassuring squeeze. "Just smile and wave." He reminds her.

As their chariot starts gaining speed, their capes lift off the ground they were dragging on, and the spider silk thin fabric really does snap open like wings, revealing their intricated detailing to the crowd enthusiastic response.

Rosie lifts a hand and waves the entire ride, laughing brightly and face glowing in excitement. Even Will can't help the small smile that sneaks unto his face, although he doesn't wave as often, only raising his hand a few times.

The twelve chariots slowly fill the loop of the City Circle. A quick glance up confirms that every window of surrounding buildings is crammed to the brim with the most prestigious citizens of the Capitol as he had been expecting.

As soon as the last chariot halts and the music ends with a flourish, President Snow appears on a balcony. He was a small, thin man with hair white from age and looked so ordinary despite his elegant style of dress, it is hard to believe he is the most hated man out in the poorer districts.

"Welcome." He says, starting his welcoming speech. It's always a new variation of the same things he says each year, but the people still quiet down to listen as if caught in a rapture. "Tributes, we welcome you with great pleasure to the Capitol." He continues. "We salute your courage, your sacrifice. And, needless to say, we wish you Happy Hunger Games. May the odds be ever in your favor."

The National Anthem begins to play, and the chariots parade one last time around the circle, and they disappear into the Training Center, the tributes final home and prison before the deaths of all but one.

As soon as they are inside, they are surrounded by their two prep teams who were jabbering over one another as they all tried to congratulate them at the same time. Bacchus and Rosie's stylist are also there, busy taking off their fragile capes before they were trampled and ripped.

Their chariot costumes, as all their future ones, will be going the Hunger Games museum and preserved for future generations as soon as those ones end. They say the building has a floor added each year and contains not just the tributes costumes but the weapons and supplies they had used, and occasionally, even preserved bodies, if they died in a particularly interesting or unique manner. Will, personally, thought it distasteful and gruesome. It was bad enough the arenas were considered historical landmarks and were always left open for the Capitolites to revisit as tourist destinations with the option of taking part in re-enactments, of all things, after the conclusion of their games. The same had been done to the Capitol Arena, a rundown amphitheater that had been used before the invention of the present-day Arenas.

Rosie finally releases his hand and jumps off the chariot to run towards their approaching mentors. "It was amazing! There were so many people, and it was so loud, and did we do good? I think we did well. I was so scared at first…"

"Easy, easy there, sweetheart." Chaff laughs and places his single remaining hand on the tiny girl's head to stop her adrenaline-fueled bouncing. "You did good, kid. The hand-holding was a nice touch and sent a powerful statement."

Rosie lowers her eyes bashfully. "It wasn't anything like that. I just did it because I was scared, and Basil always lets me hold his hand when I was younger. And I know Willy does the same for other kids like the twins."

"Not Hazel," Will interjects with a fond roll of his eyes. "he thinks eight-year-olds are far too old for that, and he's a big boy now, and big boys don't cry, hug, or hold hands. Heather's the one who's never going grow out of cuddling everything and everyone."

"Oh, they sound adorable." Coco breaths. "And this Basil, is he another of your siblings? You must have a very large family!"

"We do. There is always someone new joining us."

Thus softly chatting in that fashion, they follow after a Capitol attendant who was directing them towards the elevators. As the doors slid shut, Will frowns distractedly and turns his head back just in time to meet the eyes of an unsmiling Nyle Abano.

* * *

**I don't own T****he Hunger Games. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Their home until the actual Games begin was located in a tower of the Training Center exclusively designed for the tributes and their teams. Each district had its own floor reachable by a beautiful crystal elevator. They had never ridden one before, so both of them watched the people on the ground floor shrink as they rose into the air with fascination. Despite having grown up climbing the trees in their orchards, it didn't prepare them to be so high up, or the feeling of having forgotten their stomach far below them from the speed of they were climbing up the floor levels. For some reason, Will had thought it would be at least somewhat similar.

With them were their two mentors, their stylists, and their escort, Lucretia, who had appeared almost out of nowhere gushing their praises. Apparently, Rosie's innocent hand-holding had been very well received by the sponsors. "At this point, not allying in the arena will be taken extremely badly and will lose you a lot of support." She warns them shrewdly. "The people want their team of tragic siblings. They want their new Cashmere and Gloss."

"But one of us will die, even if the other wins the Games." Rosie quietly says, finally coming out of her Parade-created high.

"Oh, they aren't thinking of that yet." The older woman waves a hand dismissively. "Give them until the Launching. They'll realize it then. And then they'll be already so attached they'll do everything in their power for the two of you to survive for as long as possible."

He exchanges a glance with his little sister and decided not to comment. It was clear they would never understand what goes on in the minds of the Capitolites. At times, they seemed so smart, after all, someone had to think up something like the Games, which no matter how cruel were terribly effective in reminding the Districts of what will happen should they ever contemplate the idea of rebellion again, but at other times they could also be such idiots.

"Lucretia will be helping us find sponsor deals for you" Seeder explains the younger woman's continued presence. "Only we, as mentors, can close the deals, but she can assist in winning over potential sponsors to our side by using all of her many, and I mean many, acquaintances and friends. Her large social network is one of the numerous reasons she was chosen as an escort. It's a requirement to apply for this job. Aspirants are immediately out of the running if they don't know two or three sponsors prior to applying for the job."

"I will also be chaperoning you when your mentors are busy. It's just so easy to get lost in here if you don't know where to go."

The doors of the elevator slide open, and their quarters are revealed to them, for the first time. They were so big they could fit the entire orphanage with no problem and then have some space left over. The walls and floors seemed to be made of marble and everything looked so strange and alien, Will couldn't fathom how anyone could be comfortable living in such a cold place. Their rooms were located on a mezzanine, and they could lay almost all of their siblings comfortably on their beds alone. The entire residence was filled with what seemed like hundreds of unfamiliar and doubtless unnecessary gadgets, while their windows could zoom in and out on parts of the city at their command or show various nature scenes. In the corner hangs a mouthpiece, into which you need to only say a type of food you want from a gigantic menu, and it will appear in barely a minute. It was soulless and impersonal. It didn't look lived in. It's been barely a day, and he already missed having to step over piles of blankets and having to watch for toys under his feet.

Their dinner is served nearly as soon as they arrive. The food was excellent and worthy of the Capitol; soup and greens and more fresh meat than he had ever seen before, but the whole time he feels tense, picking at his plate like he never had before. There had always been too little food to waste it by pushing it around with a fork and not eating it. It was the servers, he knew. All visually-pleasing young people, dressed in white tunics who wordlessly kept their plates and glasses full. He'd heard of the Avox, naturally. How couldn't not he when his own parents were supposedly ones too?

He barely recalls them, but he knew they had tried to run from the District. They had been caught, and only he had been spared by the Peacekeepers because he had been so young. He'd been given to the orphanage, and they had been sent to the Capitol to face their punishment. Now, Will cannot help but peer at the faces of the Avox both fearing and hoping to recognize the vaguely remembered features of his parents; his father had his pale hair, but he inherited his eyes from his mother. Both had been tall.

Beside him, Rosie continues to chatter happily, unaware of his inner turmoil, but Chaff appears to be staring at him in concern. He doubts the man knew what was bothering him. He might have been the talk of the District for a while, but it had been years since then. Still, he avoids eye contact for the rest of the dinner. He had no wish to speak of it.

Eventually, Seeder crosses her utensils on her plate and pushes it to the side. "As you are no doubt aware, tomorrow is your first training session. We need to discuss how we want to play it." She says.

"What do you mean?" Rosie asks, wiping her mouth with a piece of soft cloth.

"I want to know what you're good at." The older woman explains. "What you can do and what you can't, what you need to learn before you enter the arena."

"We can skip the plant stations right off the bat." Chaff declares swirling his glass of wine. "You don't need it, and it'll be a waste of time."

"I'm pretty decent with a slingshot." He says hesitantly. "Me and the boys make them out of whatever material we find lying around then shoot down birds for lunch. Wood, twine, plants… whatever works."

"I'm fast," Rosie mumbles, picking at bread. She's aware she doesn't have much to offer in terms of combat. "no one's ever caught up to me when we race or play tag at school."

Their mentors exchange heavy glances. "Well, at least you're not entirely useless." Seeder sighs. "Tomorrow stick to the survival stations. Concentrate primarily on the fire-starting, the knot-tying, and the shelter-making stations. We'll figure out the weapon situation later."

"Let's go watch the replay of the opening ceremonies and then it's off to bed for you, kids." Rosie's stylist, an orange-haired woman called Leto, says.

And that's what they did, despite him not being all that eager too with his thoughts always returning to the next day's training. They had made a target of themselves by sticking so obviously together, now everybody will be looking at them for weaknesses, and those… those they had plenty. And they will be perfectly visible for all at the training.

* * *

Morning comes too quickly. He slowly drags himself out of bed and into the washroom, head pounding and mouth feeling dry. There, he takes a long shower, reveling under the hot spray of water. He was never going to get tired of that, and he is likely to miss it the most of the Capitol luxuries when he enters the arena.

Sometime during the night, an outfit had been led out for him beside the wardrobe, Will notices slightly disturbed once he was more awake and leaves the washroom. He wasn't exactly a light sleeper, but neither did he think he'd sleep through anyone walking around in his room. More than once he'd been woken by his various siblings trying to sneak out at night. Getting the hint, he puts on the uniform which consisted of tight black pants and a short-sleeved shirt and after an instant of hesitation decides to pull his hair into a small tail instead of leaving it loose as usual. He didn't want it distracting him today by sliding into his eyes at the wrong moment.

Still not feeling ready to face the day, he nonetheless makes his way to the dining room for breakfast. Seeder was already there and he joins her at the long board set up just to the side of the table. Slowly, he loads up his plate with eggs and sausages which he eats rather unwillingly, forcing himself to choke it down. He will need a lot of energy later, and his customary piece of fruit will unfortunately not do.

Chaff and Rosie also come down, both looking miserable. He suspects the older man was hungover given the amount of alcohol he consumes on any given day and his sister had probably slept as well as he, which means not at all. They had decided the previous evening to stay in their separate rooms at night in preparation for the Games. If… when one of them died, the other needed to be able to sleep alone, or they would not last long. Dying from exhaustion because they couldn't fall asleep would be humiliating. Their siblings would never let them forget it.

After breakfast, which had been a silent and glum affair, Lucretia shows up to take them down to the training rooms.

Located below the ground level of their building, the gigantic gymnasium they will be training in with the other tributes is filled with various weapons and obstacle courses. With just a glance, he could identify stations for archery, spears, swords, and hand-to-hand combat. The rest are harder to classify, being small areas of forests, deserts, or rocky terrains. That's where they were going to learn the essential survival skills.

They aren't the first ones there, but nor are they the last. Silent, they go join the tense circle of waiting tributes as behind them the elevator doors slide open again and another pair steps out.

Soon, a tall and athletic-looking man marches into the room and faces them. "My name is Meleager." He introduces himself. "I am the head trainer here at the Training Center. Which one of the twenty-four of you standing before me today is left alive in roughly two weeks depends on how well you pay attention to what I'm going to say to you at this very moment. Statistically, most of you will die of natural causes; ten percent from infection, fifteen from exposure, that's already six, twenty percent from dehydration, that's another five. Do not, I repeat, do not ignore the survival skills. They just might save your lives. Additionally, there are four compulsory exercises; here, here and the two over there. You will do them, whether you want to or not. That is not up to debate. And one last thing before you are dismissed; there will be absolutely no fighting with the other tributes. You will have more than enough time for that in the arena. May the odds be ever in your favor, tributes."

Dismissed, they start breaking off to the numerous stations. The Career Tributes head to the weapon stations, of course, to show off and intimidate the field. It works. They are larger, heavier than the rest of the tributes, having been fed and trained their entire lives for this one moment, and they know what they are doing, unlike the rest of them. He's glad for once for his height, a taller than average for his age which so often made him stand out in a crowd with his classmates, and while he was thin, he was strong, having spent most of his life doing back-breaking work in the orchards in any weather.

"Come on." He tells Rosie. "Let's try the fire-starting station, then I'll show you how to use a slingshot."

"But didn't Seeder tell us to avoid the weapons?" She asks nervously, eyeing the District 1 male, Ajax, wield a spear.

"If we don't show some fighting capability we'll be the Careers first targets."

And that's the last thing the wanted. They needed to look somewhat competent for the Careers to decide they were more trouble than it was worth that early into the Games. It would give them time to hopefully find a good hiding spot to hole up in until there were fewer competitors still kicking. Therefore, they needed to show that they could fight which meant he needed to teach Rosie some fundamentals. A long-range weapon, that needed little training and little skill, was easy to use and could be made by them from anything if the Gamemakers didn't provide one, would fit her perfectly, Will had decided after some thought. A bow had been the first weapon he'd had considered, but Rosie was both too weak to effectively use it and didn't have enough time to properly learn.

That evening as they're eating dinner, he poses the question that's been bothering him for a while. "Can you teach us?"

"Teach you?" Lucretia repeats confused.

"How to fight." He clarifies putting down his knife and fork. "I don't want to approach some of the combat stations with the other tributes watching, and I thought it'll be good to hide some of our new abilities."

Seeder looks considering. "Do you know anything about fighting? Can you properly punch something, at the very least, without breaking your fingers?"

"Dirty fighting mainly." He shrugs in response. "I've gotten into a few schoolyard scraps. Didn't always win, but the other guy never came out of it looking like a fresh daisy."

"And you have to have your thumb on the outside of your fist when punching someone," Rosie adds proudly. "Basil though me that. He also said to go for their eyes, either with my nails or just throw dirt at them or anything really as long as they're blinded even if it's temporary. And he said to take groin shots when I can, and that'll work on the girls too." Then she wilts suddenly. "Not that I ever had to do any of this."

He furrows his brows, confused. "When did he teach you this? Why?"

"He said it was just in case someone decided to bully us and he wasn't around to teach them a lesson. He made sure all the girls at the orphanage knew what to do whether we wanted it or not." She explains in a mumble.

"That is already a decent start." Chaff says. "You have no idea how many people unconsciously avoid fighting dirty even in the arena."

"Don't try to drag it out. If you can, run." Seeder advises. "Take advantage of your terrain, anything can serve as a weapon whether it's a rock of a twig."

"The Matron suggested poisoning if we got ourselves some alliance." Claims Rosie.

"That is a good idea." Seeder agrees. "Most of the Tributes won't recognize poisonous plants as well as you two. Now, here's what you're going to do. Try the bigger weapons during training; swords, axes, you know which ones. They'll be our distraction. When you come back, Chaff and I will teach you some defensive maneuvers for when you will have to fight for your lives. Because you will, that's inevitable so don't look at me like that, Rosalie. Some knife-work and some wrestling won't be a bad thing either." She glares at them unsympathetically. "I better not catch you slacking off."

"Yes, Ma'am."

As if they would. This was too important to not pay attention. They had little enough time as it was, they weren't going to was what they had by daydreaming of all things.

And so, it went. During the day, they spent hours in the training rooms, spending most of their time on survival stations, but making sure to try out the numerous weapons too. To his great surprise, Will finds himself not too bad with axes, though he certainly was not a natural. Rosie, on the other hand, turns out to be passable with spear throwing, as long as the target wasn't too far or moving. They try camouflage but abandon it almost immediately, neither of them having the artistic talent for it. Trap-making goes well for both of them, possessing deft fingers from years of braiding baskets from dry grass. He enjoys the tracking course and goes back several more times for additional instruction.

The two evenings that had that left before their private sessions with the Gamemakers were spent by them receiving personal help from their mentors. As promised they were taught some blade-work using their dinner knives, and some hand-to-hand where for Rosie especially, they concentrated on using her height to their advantage because of her much smaller stature. Demonstrating on each other, their mentors also showed them where to strike best for a faster death, and which wound will bleed out the most. For example, according to Seeder, if they can get a good enough hit into the throat of their opponent, even with a light bare-handed punch they could crush their larynx. From there, only a surgical opening of the airway, and prompt medical attention could save them.

On the third day during lunch, tributes start being called out. First the boy, then the girl, from highest District to lowest. Once they left, they didn't come back.

"What if I do bad, Willy?" Rosie whispers as Nyle of District 4 is summoned. He leaves, throwing a smile and a wink in their direction to Will's irritation. He just couldn't understand why the other boy was so fixated on the two of them. He could swear he's been practically following them from station to station.

"Then you do bad, flower." He replies absentmindedly. "Remember that one tribute who won with a score of three a few years back? It just means we won't have many willing to sponsor us."

"Oh, right."

He glances at her and pulls her hand away from her mouth. "Don't bite your nails." He tells her entangling their fingers together. "You'll do fine."

Some three hours later, he's finally called. The only ones left by then, other than his little sister, were the two skinny District 12 tributes and they shrink back away from him as he passes them.

He enters the gymnasium and instantly frowns up at the Gamemakers sitting up in the stands. They were drunk.

He sighs frustrated through his nose, but there is nothing he could do. And it wasn't as if he was going to impress them much anyway. He heads towards the nearest woodland survival station and after fashioning himself a serviceable slingshot in a couple of minutes, moves towards the obstacle courses.

At the orphanage, they had a game. They would climb the highest branches of the trees in their backyard, or the beams of a barn and swing off them. The one who could make the most challenging leap, the most impressive mid-air twist, the most precarious landing was crowned the winner. He was among the best, being narrowly beaten out of first place by Aster.

Clenching his make-shift slingshot between his teeth, he climbs up the hanging ropes, runs across the bridges daggling from the ceiling as fast as he could and balances on narrow beams.

Clenching his make-shift slingshot between his teeth, Will climbs up to the rope net that hung stretched across the ceiling of the gym. He shows off some of his more impressive jumps and then suddenly to all appearances slips. The few watching Gamemakers exclaim in shock, jumping to their feet. Evidently, they didn't want their tributes injured days before the Games begin.

With his knees caught in a trapeze, he hangs upside down and giving the Capitolites a mocking sneer, takes out a rock from his pocket, and snipes a dummy in the head with his slingshot. Letting go, he flips in the air and lands on the ground shoulder-rolling forward. He stands facing the Gamemakers.

"You may go." One of the men nods approvingly, and Will listens, tossing his slingshot into the bushes of the fire-starting station.

He'd shown speed and agility, and some combat skills at the same time. He wouldn't be breaking any records with this. But, he won't be in the lower scores. Maybe he'll get a respectable six, or a seven.

* * *

**I don't own the Hunger Games.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Rosie soon joins him and their mentors in the sitting room of their quarters looking flushed but victorious.

"I did the Gauntlets." She crows. "You know, the obstacle course? I ran them a couple of times during training to get a feel for them, only slowly, so that the others don't realize how quick I really am." She pauses, and a large grin spreads over her face. "A lot of the Gamemakers were paying attention to me."

"Good job, honey!" Will tells her ruffling her hair. "I told you you'll do fine."

"I sure you both did well!" Lucretia says proudly. "Go wash up, and come down for dinner."

Once they had all been fed, they gather in front of the enormous television to watch the scores being announced. Because the training wasn't open to viewers, and their private session where secret, the Gamemakers started assigning a score to each tribute according to how much they impressed them. The number received, from between one and twelve, one being the lowest and twelve being the highest, allowed the public to have an idea where to place their starting bets and the sponsors to have an indication of who was worth sponsoring. Though it was worth remembering that having a high number didn't promise a chance at victory. Often, they were among the first to die. A high combat ability wasn't the only thing that could save a tribute's life in the arena. More than once it had been the ones that hid until the end that won.

Had he been alone, he'd have aimed for something in the middle like a five for his score. He would have hidden his meager potential as a surprise for the arena, but with Rosie… They had to show they weren't worth getting into a fight with. And at the same time, they had to show they weren't threats either. It was a very delicate balancing act between being good and being not _that_ good.

After some music, Caesar Flickerman, host of the Hunger Games for more than thirty years appears on the screen. In all that time, his looks remained virtually unchanged, thanks to the youth-restoring surgery available solely to the Capitolites which allowed them to forever look young if they wished so. The only thing that changed was Caesar's color scheme. This year, it was white, from the dye in his hair to the makeup on his eyelids and lips. It was not a flattering look, and not even his typically colorful suit helped. Will much preferred the previous year's dark green.

One by one, a photo of a tribute appears, and Caesar announces their result. As usual, the Career Tributes get in between eight to ten, while most of the rest average out at a score of five. Occasionally, there are some unexpectedly high scores from the lower districts, such as District 7's Jack, who pulls a nine, and District 10's Cooper, with the same. Although to be fair, they had those two pegged as threats from the beginning, anyway, so they really weren't that surprised. Will had noticed the two of them had stuck to the combat stations with the Careers during training too, and suspects they will be part of the alliance.

It is finally District 11's turn, and his picture flashes on the screen. Rosie's hand slips into his, feeling clammy, and he gives it a reassuring squeeze, trying to ignore his own churning gut. A number appears below the photo.

"Seven." He breathes, relieved. Now, if only Rosie did just as well…

Her picture is displayed on the monitor, and they hold their breaths again as Caesar looks at his notes. "… a score of six."

It was as if an enormous weight fell off his shoulders, and he collapses back into the couch, all his strength unexpectedly gone. Beside him, Rosie is laughing a little hysterically, elbows braced on her knees and trembling hands hiding her suddenly teary face from view.

"You did well." Seeder congratulates them with one of her rare smiles, while Chaff toasts them with his ever-present glass of wine.

Lucretia is also beaming, nodding her head in approval. "We can work with this." She gushes brightly. "Oh, well done! Well done, indeed!"

Only Bacchus remains quiet, watching from his seat, while his partner bounces around happily with their escort. Still, even he has a slight smile curling at the edge of his purple lips.

That night, he finds himself lying in his bed staring blankly up at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep despite the stress of the day. Somehow, his thoughts keep circling back to his siblings and the orphanage. He wonders if they were proud of them. If they had felt as relieved as he and Rosie had been when they saw their scores. His chest tightens, and Will rolls over on his side, tears gathering at the edges of his eyes. He's never felt so homesick before in his entire life. At that moment, he would have given anything to be back at that old, barely standing building, to be surrounded by his dozens of siblings, all laughing and talking and being happy together. He wanted the good, reliable Spade, and the violent, short-tempered, yet exceedingly loyal Basil, and the mischievous twins Heather and Hazel, and sweet, kind, naïve little Eva and… He squeezes his eyes shut. He'd be happy with even the Matron.

He loved Rosie, really. Just like he loved all his siblings. But they've never been that close. And however much he wanted to deny it, she will be a liability in the Games. Too soft, too caring, anyone who spent two minutes around her could see that. Would a girl who hated killing _bugs_ be able to kill a human? Would she able to ignore the urge to help a wounded opponent? He knew people tended to change in the arena, but will she be able to change enough? Will it be in time or will it be too late? Will he even like the change, who she will become? Or will he regret not killing her to spare her from what will follow? Because he's thought of that, and often. He'd thought of killing her as soon as the Games started. A stab through the back right into her heart, he had imagined. Easy, quick, and most importantly, she wouldn't have suffered. He'd thrown up in the washroom after, disgusted with himself, but he had nonetheless still seriously considered it, if only so that she'd died pure and innocent instead of with bloodstained hands. He had decided against that plan of action eventually since he didn't think he had the guts to go through with it.

There is a knock on the door, and with a start, he realizes that dawn had come and he hadn't managed to sleep at all. He rises from his bed with a groan, dragging a hand across his face. It was going to be a miserable day, he just knew it.

* * *

Before they are let out into the arena to kill each other, all the tributes have to face the interviews. Their main purpose was to show the Capitol a little about each tribute to assist them in selecting their favorite, while for them it was their final chance to attract a sponsor. Will was not looking forward to them. He never did well in front of crowds, that's what he had Quil for. His older sister would have thrived under all that attention.

They start with presentation. For hours, Lucretia had them learn how to walk, how to sit, how to smile… It was as horrible as he had expected it to be, though the Matron had done her best to beat proper manners into all of their thick skulls. Apparently, her efforts haven't been enough. According to the adults, he had a habit of slouching horribly when sitting, while Rosie gestured with her hands too much when talking. Among other things. Because, of course, they had a lot more problems than that in their etiquette training.

"Be grateful you aren't a girl." Their escort tells him during a short break. "I would have put you in the tallest heels I could find and a full-length gown in addition."  
"I just don't see how it matters how much or how wide I smile. My cheeks are starting to hurt." He complains, and Rosie giggles in response.

After lunch, they all gather back in the sitting room for the content session. There, they had to decide how they were going to present themselves to the audience. Are they going to be charming? Or will they be fierce? Or maybe they should be humorous? Their task was to figure out how they could appeal to the crowds the best.

"We'll definitely have to go with the protective big brother angle for you, Will," Seeder says and no one argues. It was the most obvious route for him. "while you, Rosie, could try the adorable, friendly one. Remember, as long as the audience likes you, they don't necessarily have to like Will too and verse versa. In this, you have an advantage in coming as a package deal from the start."

"I'll just channel Basil, then." He jokes.

"Only if you don't try to punch Caesar." Rosie returns, and they crack up. It wasn't hard picturing their brother hitting the man for one reason or another.

Lucretia and their mentors act as the interviewers, asking them questions similar to the ones Caesar has asked in the past. He thinks it goes well at the beginning, but by the end, Will has a mouth dry like the desert and wishes it was over. He becomes sullen, grumpy, and a little too angry to justify continuing the fake interview. Even Rosie's almost ever-present smile starts slipping into a frown.

"Leave the kids alone." Chaff finally interrupts his partner. "They get it."

Seeder scowls, clearly displeased, but at long last dismisses them and they quickly escape before she could change her mind.

After another long sleepless night, his room is invaded by his prep crew who don't let him out of their clutches until late afternoon. His hair is styled the exact same way it had been during the Chariot Ride only with a slightly less noticeable hairclip, and the blue paint on his nails is redone, covering the chipping that had happened while he was training. They don't cover him in glitter or decorate his face and arms with stunning designs again, but they do spend hours spreading all kinds of creams all over his body until his skin seems to glow. Even his makeup is understated, with only the slightest darkening around his eyes and some skin-colored concealer to hide his eyebags.

Bacchus enters with a big bag and the team eagerly sets to dressing him in his costume. Again, the theme was blue, from the darker coloring of the suit to the lighter, shimmering shade of the dress shirt. It was fitted perfectly, but he can't help tugging on a sleeve with a grimace as he examines himself in the full-length mirror.

"Something wrong?" His stylist asks mildly.

"No! No." He hastens to reassure the other man. "It's beautiful."

"But?"

"I don't feel all that comfortable wearing this." He admits.

"Take off the jacket." Cyrus suddenly interjects and shrinks back when they all turn to look at him.

Bacchus observes him for a long moment. "You have an idea?"

"Y-yes." The man stammers, avoiding his gaze. He must have thought he was overstepping his boundaries.

"Then go right ahead." The stylist invites indifferently and Cyrus edged nervously around him as he approaches Will.

Carefully helping him out of the suit jacket, the man's black gem-adorned hands smooth down the wrinkles in his shirt and pop open the first couple of the top buttons. After a second of hesitation, he also loosens the dark blue tie from its constrictive choke around Will's neck, before stepping away. "There." He says, looking a lot more confident. "Much better, I think."

"Oh!" Coco exclaims. "Roll up his sleeves too, Ciri!"

Back in front of the mirror, he had to admit his prep team members were right. Not only he looked better, he could actually recognize himself in the reflection now. It was something he could imagine wearing, had he had the money to buy such clothes.

They meet up with the rest at the elevator, and Rosie turns to looks at him anxiously. He has to admit Leto and her prep team did a good job. He'd been afraid his little sister will be made to look more mature than she really was, but that wasn't the case at all. Instead, she wore a fluffy and white short dress and tiny kitten heels. Her hair was styled into curls, and the only hint of makeup was in her rosy cheeks and pinked lips.

"You look cute." He compliments her with a soft smile.

"Thanks." She tells him, ducking her head shyly. "You look nice too."

The elevator doors open, and they join the other tributes in lining up to take the stage. Soon, they are paraded single-file up the platform and seated in a big arc on an elevated dais. He takes an opportunity to look curiously around in an attempt to calm his racing heart. Another elevated seating unit had been set up for prestigious guests and the tributes stylists. When their work was presented, the cameras were supposed to turn to them. There was a large balcony too, which was reserved for the Gamemakers, while all the other ones were commandeered by a multitude of television crews. The entire place was so packed with people, it was standing room only.

Caesar waltzes onto the stage to the enthused applause of the crowd, and it begins. One by one, tributes stepped to the center of the stage and for the next three minutes all attention was on them.

The first one up was the girl from District 1, Satin. Black-haired and green-eyed, she looked stunning in a floor-length form-fitting silver dress which twinkled under the lights. There was only one angle she could play and she did it perfectly. She was sexy, she was provocative, she made the audience fall in love with her. It was amazing really, how easily she managed to manipulate the Capitolites.

Her district partner who was next in line was less charming, and more barely contained violence. He spoke of how he couldn't wait to be out in the arena, of how long he'd been dreaming of this occasion, and the longer he talked, the more Will was certain he did not want to meet him once the Games started.

As usual, Caesar did a wonderful job. With his help, even the jumpiest of the tributes became stars. It was his friendliness, and his willingness to laugh at the weakest jokes that made him such a good host. It was his reactions to what the tributes said that made him a crowdpleaser even outside the Capitol like when he acted horrified when the District 6's female tribute bursts into tears as she explained she volunteered for her best friend because she was already dying of an illness. An illness that was entirely curable in the Capitol, but was much too expensive to treat anywhere else.

It's is Rosie's turn, and she bounces onto the stage with a large grin. You couldn't tell at all how terrified she truly was.

"Hi, Caesar." She chirps before he can say anything. "Call me Rosie. Everyone does."

He laughs. "Someone's excited! Very well, Rosie it is."

They exchange some pleasantries, and then Caesar gets down to business. "So, Rosie, tell me. Are you and William really not siblings?"

She wrinkles her nose. "Technically, no. But we all consider each other family back at the orphanage. Even Aster." She leans forward as if sharing a secret and Caesar follows suit. "She's mean and can be pretty nasty, but we love her anyway."

Will imagines the girl watching the interview back home and had to stifle the smile that threatens to spread on his face at the mental image of her face turning an angry red when she hears this. The others were going to tease her mercilessly for weeks.

The spectators laugh and Rosie beams at them with a what-can-you-do shrug. "There's always that one family member, right?"

"Yes, yes." Caesar acknowledges. "My uncle exactly." He becomes serious again. "Now, what about fighting? Can you fight, Rosie? I remember you getting an impressive six as a score."

She nods. "One of my other older brothers thought me how to. He didn't want me getting bullied, you see."

"Oh? And did that happened often?" Caesar looks concerned.

"Not at all. Not after I punched one of them right in his nose." She giggles sweetly. "I think I broke it."

That was a lie. But judging by the crowd's reaction, they entirely believed her and were extremely impressed. The situation had really happened, but she certainly wasn't the one doing the punching. And it hadn't been Basil, either. There was a reason why they all tried to keep Spade happy. He had a long fuse, but once his patience ran out, it got very explosive. Luckily, he also normally calmed down quickly.

Three minutes are up, the buzzer sounds, and Rosie flounces back towards her seat after a quick round of goodbyes with Caesar.

They announce his name, and Will makes his way to the center of the stage. In a fit of inspiration, he disregards everything Lucretia had said about proper posture and collapses into the chair like he would have when surrounded by the people he knew. All self-confidence with a hint of arrogance as if he and Caesar were old friends.

"And you must be the big brother." The man extends a hand in greeting.

"One of them." He lazily agrees, shaking the hand.

"The scariest?"

"Not by far." He chuckles. "But still pretty scary, I hope."

"I've been wondering, exactly how many of you are there? There you two, and Aster and the other big brother who thought Rosie to punch bullies in the nose..."

"Well, people come, people leave. Currently, there are thirty-eight of us, if you don't count the adults who take care of us. With them, it's forty-two."

Caesar whistles impressed. "That's one big family. Must be hard at times with so many people in one house."

He shakes his head. "I wouldn't know. It's always been that way for me, I don't remember anything else."

"William…" Caesar begins, and he immediately interrupts.

"Will."

Caesar raises an eyebrow but indulges his demand. "Will, then. Will, what would you say are your strengths?"

He pretends to mull it over. "I won't starve for one, and I know how to take care of my wounds. Medical herbs." He explains when some of the Capitolites in the crowd look confused. "I won't be in as much danger of dying from an infection. And I'd say I'm rather handy in a fight too."

Caesar turns sideways to the audience. "You hear that? Sounds like we got a pair of fighters here. Speaking off." He faces him again. "Will, everyone is eager to know, are we looking at an alliance here?"

"Me and Rosie? Of course. We're staying together until the end, whatever it might be." He smiles, sharp and angry. "I'll kill anyone who thinks they can lay a hand on my little sister while I'm still alive like a rat who got into the grain. Painfully." The buzzer sounds and he rises. "It was nice meeting you, Caesar. Love the suit."

The cameras follow after him until he's seated again, and then switch to the trembling District 12 girl. He squeezes his eyes shut and exhales heavily, hands clenching the fabric of his pants. It was over, for better or worse, and there was nothing more he could do.

* * *

He finally manages to get some real rest, thanks to Chaff, who slips him some sleeping pills with a wink after the interviews. Come dawn, when Bacchus gets him from his room and leads him to the roof, he doesn't look half-dead from exhaustion. There, a hovercraft seemingly appears out of thin air, and a ladder drops down. As soon as he starts climbing, a sort of electric current freezes him in place. Before he can panic, he's slowly lifted inside. As soon as they reach the top, he prepares to let go, but instead of immediately releasing him, a man in a white coat approaches his frozen form to jab a syringe into his forearm.

"A tracker." The man explains matter-of-factly. "It's easier to implant when you're still."

The worker leaves, and it's only now he's free to move again. He steps warily away when the ladder starts descending for Bacchus, unwilling to be forcefully held immobile for an instant longer and heads into the neighboring room from where he could smell breakfast. He doesn't feel like eating at all, but he still forces himself to fill his stomach with as much filling food as he possibly could without throwing up. He's well aware it might possibly be the last time he could ever eat that good again.

Bacchus joins him at the table. "That was some attitude yesterday." He notes uncaringly.

He snorts. "Not really."

A purple eyebrow rises, and the stylist stares at him, head tilted to the side, and smoldering cigarette hanging from his fingers.

"The people are going to see the real me in the arena anyway, so I didn't see the need to be all that polite like I did for you." He explains wryly.

"It was all an act?"  
"Not _all_ of it. I can be respectful occasionally too." He grins. "Besides, I was told to channel Basil for the interview, so that's what I did. He's the rude one in the family."

They ride the hovercraft for about an hour before the widows suddenly blackout. He'd been passing the time by looking out at the passing wilderness, and he moves away from them disgruntledly. They were nearing their final destination.

Once the Hovercraft lands, they go back down the ladder, only this time they descend much deeper, down a tube underground, and into the catacombs below the arena. From there, an Avox leads them into the Launch Room.

"We call them the Stockyard back in the districts." He tells Bacchus offhandedly.

The man frowns. "Why?"

"Because that's where the animals go before they're slaughtered."

"Ah." A dry smile flickers across his face. "I suppose you, the tributes, are the animals in this metaphor?"

"Yep." Will says, examining the newly arrived clothes, and then curses loudly.

Bacchus approaches and rubs the material of the grey turtleneck shirt between his fingers thoughtfully. "Thermals. Those are going to be some cold Games."

"Yes." He growls. "And there goes our biggest advantage. Do you know how many species of plants grow in below-zero weather? I can count them on my hands and nearly all of them are bioengineered by the Capitol. What more, most are purely decorative!"

The only non-waterproof clothes Will had been provided with turn out to be the shirt and the socks. Everything else, from the furry-hooded coat to the pants, to the heavy boots were white, waterproof, and visibly made for warmth. Even the gloves and belt were the same. Thankfully, nothing was bulky, and they were actually reasonably comfortable to move in. Will assumes the clothes were made of some kind of special material available only in the Capitol, they were so light.

As he pulls his hair into a tight tail, Bacchus produces a pendant from his pocket. "Your token, I assume." He says.

Will reaches out and takes it, twisting it around in his hands. It might be a simple circle of dark wood hanging from a leather cord, depicting a carving of a large tree, but it had been a present from his siblings for his last birthday and as such infinitely precious to him. He hadn't taken it off since receiving it, and had been wearing it for the reaping. He'd been forced to part with it during the Chariot Ride and he hadn't thought he'd see it again. His throat tightens, and he puts it on, tucking it away securely beneath his shirt. It reassured him, to feel it hanging against his skin again.

Soon enough, a woman's voice pleasantly announces it was time to prepare for launch. He walks over to stand on a circular metal plate in the middle of the room. Faintly, he realizes his hands are shaking. A glass cylinder lowered around him, and he begins to rise. His last sight before being blinded by bright light is off Bacchus staring back at him, casually smoking his cigarette.

All around him booms the voice of the announcer, Claudius Templesmith. He says the same thing he says each year with only the slightest of variation to the numbers. "Ladies and gentlemen, let the Sixty-sixth Hunger Games begin!"

* * *

**I don't own the Hunger Games. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

In the lower districts, all children unanimously feared being chosen for the Hunger Games. They weren't fools, they knew their chances of winning were closer to zero. By the time they turn twelve, they had all seriously asked themselves if they could ever kill another human being. They knew that with each additional tesserae they signed up for their odds of being picked increased, but could do nothing for they desperately needed that extra food. At the orphanage, the Matron forbade more than five tesserae per person. Still, it had never been enough to feed everyone through the year, and many took more on the sly for the younger children.

Nightmares were very common in the weeks and days leading up to the Reaping for the newly turned twelve years old. Will had his fair share where he found himself in one past arena or another. He never lived in those dreams and having watched so many Games he had plenty of gruesome deaths for his subconscious to choose from. Most of all, he feared dying a prolonged, drawn-out death. Dehydration, hunger, infection… He'd rather have his throat cut. At least this way he wouldn't suffer long.

Not that the rest of his nightmares were any better, featuring the people he loved best in the same arenas in his stead. Spade and Basil most frequently because they were the oldest and had the most paper slips with their names written down. Hazel and Heather, less regularly, but always together when they died. Little Eva, eternally screaming for him, begging to be saved with blood dripping from her mouth and her guts falling out.

Finding himself living the stuff of his night terrors wasn't such a surprise to him as one would expect. He'd steeled himself to this possible outcome the first time he put down his name for tesserae and he understood there will be no volunteers for him. Not in district 11. There was no glory in it like in 1 or 2. Rather, it was considered suicide to do so. They had exactly two volunteers in the entire history of the Games. Both times it was for family. Neither survived the first day.

Will takes one deep breath, then another, trying to think past his rising panic. This wasn't another of his dreams, this was reality. He had to concentrate because he has just sixty seconds to get his bearing before he can step off his metal circle. Any earlier and he will be blown up to kingdom come by the landmines buried underneath. The previous Games, one of the female tributes had dropped her token, a wooden ball of some sort. They Gamemakers ended up having to scrap pieces of her from the ground. That too had features in his nightmares once or twice.

His head turns from side to side as he attempts to take everything in at once. They had been raised from the underground complex in a circle with the Cornucopia, a twenty feet high shining horn made of gold metal standing in the middle. From its mouth spilled out the things that will help them survive in the arena; food, water, medicine, and of course, weapons. As usual, the farther away the supplies lie from the horn, the more their value decreased. If they wanted the best items, they will have to fight for them. Much of what little food he could see was right in the center of that pile.

Unlike most arenas, they weren't on a large and flat, open stretch of ground. Instead, it was a small clearing covered in snow, surrounded by an enormous wall of cloudy, entirely smooth ice that rose to maybe two hundred feet in height. Here and there, it was interrupted, breaking off in favor of openings as tall as the walls themselves of various width. Some were wide enough for only one person, others for approximately five people side by side. From what he could see from his position, each led to more passageways and corridors.

He catches Rosie's eye from where she stood almost opposite him and inclines his head meaningfully towards one of the smaller openings closest to her. She nods quickly and readies herself to run. The numbers projected above the Cornucopia count down, five, four, three… He slides his feet into position, aiming for a small pack not far from him. Two, one, the gong sounds, ringing loud and clear. He lunges forwards, scoops the pack up, instantly slinging it over one shoulder and turns in Rosie's direction.

It was chaos, all around him. Some had aimed to escape right away, but others had stayed, fighting for the smallest scraps. The Careers were already at the weapons, fiercely defending their prize. A girl falls, then a boy, their blood staining the snow bright red, and their eyes glassy in death. Another tribute is chasing after his little sister, a sword in hand. He's too far to help, not fast enough to reach her in time, but he had seen a spear lying not far from his position, so he abruptly changes course and dashes towards it. He had promised to do his best to come back home, but he can't let his sister die this early in the Games. Even deliberately standing aside while someone killed her, would just as surely destroy him from guilt as if he did the deed himself on the off chance he survived this. He's going to keep them both alive for as long as possible.

He reaches the spear, kicks it off the ground in one smooth motion as he did with rakes or brooms to conserve the few precious seconds he had, takes a couple more steps, and flings it forward with all the strength he had. By some miracle, it lands on target, and the other boy stumbles and collapses face down on the cold ground, the metal shaft prodding from his back. Will doesn't have time to stand around awed by the success of his desperate gambit, he had taken off running again as soon as the spear was in the air, focused on reaching his sister who had by then disappeared in the corridor none the wiser. He doesn't waste time getting the spear back as he passes the body. It was lodged deep into the muscle and bone, and he couldn't afford to dawdle around trying to dislodge it. Better leave before anyone noticed him.

He enters at full speed the roofless corridor of ice and follows the trail of clearly evident small footprints in the snow. That was going to be a big problem. They weren't going to be able to effectively hide if they were so easily tracked. He takes one turn at an intersection, then another and another. Before he knows it, he's hopelessly lost. The sound of battle slowly fades, so he must be getting farther away from the Cornucopia after all, and he slows to a brisk walk to conserve energy. It's quiet. Too quiet. The only noise is the snow crunching underneath his feet and the howling of the wind in between the cervices of ice. It's also bitterly cold. Despite his warm clothes and his constant movement, he's already chilly.

"Willy?"

"Rose." He exhales in relief and envelops the quivering girl in a hug. "You're alright." He whispers to her, pressing a kiss on top of her head. "We're alright."

They stand that way for a long moment, calming down and suddenly exhausted as the adrenaline left their systems. Eventually, he steps back reluctantly, tugging Rosie's hood back on from where it had fallen around her shoulders.

"What are we going to do now?" She asks, tucking her hands in her armpits to keep them warm.

He drops down onto the snow, leaning against the wall and pats invitingly the spot beside him. "Let's see what we've got first. You grabbed a pack too, didn't you? That's good."

"Is that safe?" She questions cautiously and glances back the way they came.

He shakes his head in response. "If someone was coming, they'd have caught up by now."

Rosie shuffles in place nervously, considering, and finally slumps down, sliding her pack off from her shoulders. They're both light blue, which was not necessarily the most convenient of colors, but hardly the worst. The Gamemakers could have effortlessly made them a vivid pink. It would have been their idea of a joke. Bright beacons seen from far away, and impossible to camouflage in this snowy wasteland.

In the distance, the cannons boom. One time, three times, four times. They pause, exchanging alarmed glances. Only four dead tributes at the Bloodbath. That was unheard of. There always had been at least seven of them. Rosie visibly swallows, and he hopes the Careers track down a few more tributes by the end of the day to lower their numbers.

They go back to carefully laying out their supplies. First, they pull out a woolen scarf with a hat, which he passes on to Rosie ignoring all protests, taking for himself a sort of half-mask that covered the lower half of his face and his neck instead. There were also a pair of huge goggles with mirrored glass, several packs of jerky and crackers, enough to last them for a couple of days, a coil of rope, a bottle of foul-smelling liquid, a small knife, a portable bug zapper-like thing, some kind of attachment probably meant for their boots with wicked spikes jutting from the bottom, and two ax-looking sticks with a much thinner head than a real ax. He'd say it wasn't a bad haul, only there was barely any food, nothing to keep them warm other than their clothes and they had no idea what half of those items were used for.

Nothing to drink from either, but that was the least of their problems unless the Gamemakers had poisoned all the surrounding snow and ice.

"Oh!" Rosie exclaims suddenly and reaches into the pocket of her coat. She pulls out a slingshot and a bag of a dozen small, hollow glass marbles. They were filled with some sort of swirling gas inside. "I also got those. Here, take them."

"No." He refuses firmly. "Keep them. Just be careful with the marbles, angel. I wouldn't like to find out what that gas does on ourselves."

She hesitates. "Are you sure? You're better than me at this."

"I want you nowhere near a fight, but I can't leave you without a way to defend yourself either," Will replies distractedly, busy attaching the sheath of the knife to her belt. "just in case you run out of ammunition and you need to fight close combat, love."

"And what exactly are you going to do?" She wails almost desperately.

He says nothing, picking up one of the axes, thoughtfully dragging a hand over the gently curving shaft. He suspected they were meant to aid in climbing up the ice, but the head was sharp and pointy. They'd work as weapons too in an emergency, Will decides, sticking both handles through his own belt. Easier and faster to reach there than hidden in his bag.

He refills the packs, keeping the heavier one for himself and stands. "C'mon. We should get moving. It'll keep us warm and maybe we'll find something other than those endless corridors of ice. I'm already sick of them, and it's been barely half a day."

They go back to moving at a hurried pace, trying to put as much distance from the Horn of Plenty as possible. The scenery doesn't change much, the same ice rising on either side and the corridors sometimes widening, sometimes narrowing. Occasionally, they face dead-ends and have to back-track, other times they come across their own footprints again after taking a wrong turn. It doesn't take them long to guess why that happened, why they kept returning to places they have already been. A maze. Their arena was a giant labyrinth of ice with no exit and the Cornucopia likely as its center.

Evening starts falling. Snow too, lazily twirling across the darkening sky. That was the good thing, it'll cover their tracks before anyone could hunt them down. The bad news where the softly glowing walls. They were illuminated from the inside, providing a constant source of light. Nighttime wasn't going to be as safe as they'd expected when they were planning with their mentors. No one will be needing flashlights and torches to continue searching for them.

Their frantic speed falters, Rosie beginning to trail behind. With nowhere to conceal themselves, they settle down in the middle of a short corridor, away from any large intersections, and huddling together for warmth as the temperature dropped sharply. Hopefully, they'll hear anyone coming long before they see them, giving them time to run in the opposite direction.

The anthem soon plays, the sudden noise shocking in the former silence. The seal of the Capitol appears to be floating in the sky. He knows the people in the Districts will be watching the full coverage of every death, but they, the tributes, will be only seeing the same headshots with their district numbers as when they were given out their scores. It was considered unfair otherwise. The Gamemakers didn't want them to know the skills of their adversaries before they faced them in battle. It was the same reason why their private training sessions remained secret.

Will flinches when the first image appears in the sky. The boy from 5, Dean. The one he killed. He didn't know whether to be happy or cry. He was a killer now, but he did it to protect his sister. Did that still make him a good person? The boy's family and friends will certainly not think so.

District 6's sickly volunteer Luna, no surprises there. And District 8's twelve-year-old male, not unforeseen either. Flint, of 12. The Capitol symbol appears again with a final musical number, then the night sky is dark again, not even the stars visible behind the thick clouds. There was twenty of them left.

"Willy?"

He hums inquisitively, looking down at the little girl snuggling into his side.

"Are you alright?" She asks, peering at him in concern.

"I'm fine." He lies with the ease of long practice. "Go to sleep. I'll wake you in a few hours."

She must have been exhausted because she's dozing in seconds. Will leans his head back against the wall, watching the snowflakes fall. They were a rare sight back in the District. Idly, he starts playing with the bug zapper-thing, twisting and turning it in his hands. It was small and there was a ring at the top to attach it to something. His fingers find a button on the bottom and he presses it. With a soft crackle, it turns on and starts radiating a gentle heat. Rosie sighs contently in her sleep, shuffling closer to the warmth. The bottle of unknown liquid must be the fuel for the heater, he realizes. They'll have to conserve it carefully. With the lack of wood, this was the only thing that will keep them from freezing to death.

There's a sound, like the creaking of ice, and his head snaps up, guarded. He turns off the heater, stuffing it back into the pack, and gently shakes Rosie awake. Before she can speak, he clamps her mouth shut with his hand and raises his other to his own, a single finger extended. She nods her head frantically in understanding, and he releases her, straining to hear more of that strange sound. It repeats again, louder and longer, and slowly the walls begin shaking.

"What going on?" Rosie whispers, clutching at his arm, eyes darting about.

"I don't know." He murmurs back. "But I'd bet it's nothing good."

There is a loud boom, and under their disbelieving eyes, the walls gradually move. They stagger away from them, falling to the ground in the mad scramble, mouths dropped open wide in incredulity. It felt as if the whole world was shaking. Will blinks, in his shocked state having difficulty comprehending that their passageway was narrowing. They were going to be squashed in between like bugs into pulp.

Move, he wants to scream, but his voice isn't working. He stumbles to his feet, pulling at Rosie insistently until she follows him up and takes off in a dead sprint. They make it out just barely, sliding across the ice and into a new corridor as the walls slam shut behind them. The horrible, bone-rattling grinding sound stops, and the silence returns to the maze.

They lie in the snow, panting. There is another boom, and they bolt up again, ready to run, but the walls remain motionless.

Rosie collapses back to her knees and breaks down into tears. "It was just the cannon. Someone died, that's all."

That's all indeed. Was it wrong that he only felt an overwhelming sense of relief it wasn't them? That there were now five less people trying to kill them because they were dead?

He releases a shaky breath, which misted in the air in front of him, and positions himself against a wall again, now infinitely warier of it. Rosie crawls back under his arm, and he couldn't force himself to ask her to stay awake so that he could grab some sleep too. Someone needed to keep watch and she wasn't in any state to do it.

When dawn finally begins to break Will's so tired he could barely keep his eyes open. Thankfully, it wasn't the first time he had an all-nighter and he knew from experience that as soon as they start moving again he'll feel alert again. If he could spend a day working in the fields after a night with no sleep with no problem, he shouldn't have any trouble in the arena doing the same. Rosie shakes herself awake soon after, used to waking up this early for her work in the greenhouses and school. They share a bag of crackers for breakfast and have a mouthful of freshly fallen snow instead of normal water as a drink to satisfy their thirst. It's freezing cold and hurts their teeth but it's better than nothing.

When they start walking they don't have any specific destination in mind. They are aware, though, that staying in one place will be suicide. With any luck, they will find something other than the unending hallways of ice and more optimistically, something alive other than another tribute. They wouldn't last long with the little food they had, even with their familiarity in going hungry for long periods of time.

Snow begins falling again, having stopped sometime during the night. Once they come across marks deliberately carved into the walls at an intersection but no footprints. Someone had clearly passed by the previous day. They debate for a long moment in which way to go before Rosie mentions that it could be a trap. Maybe someone wanted them to follow the unmarked path right into an ambush she suggests. With that, they resolutely turn around and walk back the way they came, rather than take the risk. They'll return to the last intersection they had found and go in the other direction.

They end up regretting that decision when they find themselves face to face with a wolf after making the wrong turn. It was bigger than them and had jagged spikes of cloudy ice shaped to resemble real fur. Its eyes glowed a menacing blue from within as its head unhurriedly turned towards them. A mechanical parody of the beloved genetically-engineered mutts the Gamemakers adored to use in their Games. Each newly created species were met with delight by the Capitol crowd and horror by the districts who yet remembered the devastation they had brought during the Dark Days. Tracker Jackers were still a big problem in District 11.

"Run," Will whispers, taking a slow step back. The wolf takes one forward then another, silent except for the sound of ice grinding against ice. "RUN!"

* * *

**I don't own the Hunger Games. **


End file.
